


Who you gonna call?

by tattletaletales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 14:56:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattletaletales/pseuds/tattletaletales
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle returns to Hogwarts, after being forced to close the Chamber of Secrets the year before. Now he finds the entrance to the Chamber guarded by a creature most foul...





	Who you gonna call?

**Author's Note:**

> Tom Riddle as a teenager is a goddamn sociopath and also completely full of himself. I love him for it.

Framing Hagrid had always been part of the plan.

The Lord Grindelwald was after all still waging war in Europe and Britain had mostly been left alone. It suited Tom just fine, he could not see himself as a follower after all, not even for a Dark Lord such as Grindelwald. Not a mere follower anyway. Having a scapegoat ready to take the blame in case Tom could not reveal his identity as heir had been very much part of the plan.

Upon finding the Chamber of Secrets, and finally – _finally_ – realizing his birth right, Tom had released the Basilisk upon the school. Not to kill, no not at first.

As much as it pained him to admit, Tom himself was a half-blood. He could not be anything else – his father must have been a wizard and his mother a muggle, how else could she have died from such a simple act as giving birth? No, perhaps she was a Squib, cast out for not having any magic. But Tom still knew at least one of his parents had to have magic, for it to be so strong with him.

So, a half-blood he was, but more of a wizard than any other student at school, more even than some of the professors. Growing up amongst muggles left him with a bitter distaste for them, so he could not understand those muggleborns that still clung to their way of life.

He only let the Basilisk petrify those that argued for closer relationships between muggles and magical folk. Not any fourth year or below – as a fifth year himself, it was easy for Tom to see that they were just children, at most parroting what lies their parents told them. No, it would suffice to weed out any actual dissenters, so when Lord Grindelwald finally arrived in Britain…

Tom wasn’t sure. But still his task was important.

And commanding the Basilisk, letting the sibilant hisses of parseltongue fall of his lips was such a _relief_. His legacy given form.

Myrtle’s death had not been part of the plan.

Insipid little girl that she was – never mind that she was older than Tom, she clearly was as mature as any of the first years if even that – Myrtle had been hiding from her classmates in the one place that had gotten her actually hurt.

Tom had been so careful that none looked at the basilisk directly into the eye. He did not need any corpses lying around the castle, not when the entire staff and some Aurors, that could be spared from the office to help with the investigation, were snooping around. Corpses would only complicated what Tom was trying to achieve.

So of course Myrtle had gotten herself _hurt_. Rather badly. In fact, she had gotten herself _dead_.

Deflecting Professor Dumbledore’s suspicion had been nearly impossible, and Tom still had the niggling doubt that the professor was onto him. But Tom had known for far longer about Hagrid’s little hobby, of him keeping a dangerous beast within the castle walls.

Of course the acromulata could in no way have petrified the students, it was even impossible for it to have killed Myrtle, as she did not die of the spider’s venom. It didn’t matter however. The Aurors had declared Hagrid the culprit, Tom had been awarded (which he felt was only right any which way) and in the end Tom had still been sent back to London, in stead of being able to stay in Hogwarts.

 _(It was a good thing, that boggarts could only take a physical form. The howling of the air sirens forever screeching in Tom’s head, unable –_ forbidden _from performing magic even when death loomed so near. None of his dormmates understood how close he was to it every summer, why he stayed at Hogwarts for every break. He could not yet die, when he was so far from achieving anything yet.)_

Coming back to the safety of Hogwarts was always a relief, the air crisp and clear, as the stone walls and arching ceilings embraced Tom in their safety.

He could not let the Basilisk out again, not when everything had been tied up so neatly in a bow the year before. But still, he could visit, could he not? Nobody else understood Parseltongue and Tom longed for its whispered words again, his own personal, special tie to the magical world. There were of course other Parseltongue speakers out there – it was an old form of magic after all. And while this at the very least placated his dormmates, that Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy with two muggle and one magical names, was tied to their culture, it did not give them enough insight, as to which family he belong to in the end.

While any Parseltongue could gain entrance to the chamber of secrets, only a descendant of Salazar Slytherin could command the Basilisk after all.

Not that he needed to show them more of his true colours than he already unwittingly had, back in first year, when he had not yet known just how special his talent was. By third year none would dare cross him, even without the insurance of magical heritage through his hissing tongue.

So, after his prefect rounds had ended, picking up any stragglers and reminding them of the impending curfew, instructing several lost first years on how to find their dormitories, he made his way back to the girl’s bathroom that was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom frowned as he approached and stopped. He could have sworn…

It must have been nothing, a trick of the wind rushing through the corridors.

But as he picked up the pace again, he could hear it once more. Wailing, screeching, and worst of all _moaning_.

\- No not that kind. Get your head out of the gutter. -

Tom slowly began to open the door to the bathroom, stopped and put a muffling spell on the rusty hinges, before opening it again.

The inside was dark, no flames lit and nor window facing the waning moon. But still there was a silvery light shining upon the stalls and the large sink in the middle, bobbing up and down, and wandering forwards and backwards.

When again-

_AAAAAaaaaaaaHHHHHHhhhhh_

Tom instinctively covered his ears, the echoing sound clawing at his very soul. What was that _thing_ inside the bathroom?

The light bobbed and came into his small line of sight through the slightly opened bathroom door.

Tom – for the first time in a long, long time – lost his composure and his mouth fell opened in shock.

 _“I’m DEAD and that meany cannot even let me ALONE in my MISSERY!”_ the ghostly form of Myrtle Warren wailed as it stopped above the most important bathroom sink of Tom’s live.

She threw her head back and cried out, a banshee cry, that caused the sinks to suddenly rip themselves off, and spray water everywhere.

_“I just want to be left ALONE!”_

Tom took a step back. Then another.

He schooled his features and then promptly turned on one heel, striding determinedly away from the bathroom.

It was probably for the best, if he did not set foot into the Chamber of Secrets again, lest he allowed the rush of power to get to his head and attack another student with the Basilisk.

Yes, it was for the best to leave that bathroom, far, _far_ behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if Tom thinking his mother must have been a muggle since she died in childbirth - and no self-respecting witch would die in childbirth, which is such a load of BS Tom, seriously - is canon or from another fic that I have forgotten about. If it is the latter I am very sorry for not crediting the story it is coming from.


End file.
